The Ant and the Wolf
by KidWinTinker
Summary: Wolverine convinces Scott Lang to take a different sort of mission.


Scott Lang, looked out of the window at the garden below. He had forgotten what it was like to look at the world through the eyes of a normal person. _Normal._ It was a funny word. Scott had never lived a normal life. He was a super hero now, and before that… well, he was a criminal. There was no way around that fact, no matter how he tried to dress it up. Burglar. Robber. Both really did have the same connotations.

What he saw in the garden below was not the green grass and the pretty flowers that lent decorative value to his mansion. What he saw was a training ground, a battle that he had to put himself through every single day. He was in and out of the washroom in less than 2 minutes. It was time to put the suit on. A short while later, Scott was ant sized, and it unnerved him how comfortable he had become reverting to this state almost everyday. There really was no way to describe this properly to someone who hadn't had the experience, and unfortunately there were less than five people on the planet who had been fortunate enough to do so, and none of them were particularly verbose. He ran through the blades of grass as if he was running through a forest somewhere deep in the Amazons. He jumped over pebbles, as if he was negotiating mountainous terrain. He dealt with ants, grasshoppers and bees of so many different species that it gave him a new sense of wonder for the field of zoology. He learnt to distinguish between the different kinds of rocks by looking at their texture, with new eyes that did not work when he was person sized. It was the bare minimum he needed to do if he ever held any ambition to rival the likes of Wolverine, or battle the Hulk when he next went rogue.

He sipped his morning coffee and shook off the sleepiness that he was feeling. The medical staff of the Avengers, continuously advised him to get more rest, get more sleep. He had heard enough of that though. He had made it without the help of Stark's pampered doctors, and he could continue to live life without them. The money that had come in over the last few years, certainly helped but they were no substitute for the drive, and the innovative mind that made Scott Lang who he was. Hank Pym may throw a ton of jargon at him everyday, but Scott knew that the old man held a certain amount of respect for him. He had long since stopped overlooking Scott's everyday training, but Scott had sensed it strongly in those days. Every time, Scott overcame one of the drills set up by the old man, Scott immediately found a new one for himself. He had long since given up gloating and making a few quips at the old man. Hank Pym himself had gotten sterner and more serious over the years. Scott missed the good old days, the times when the heist that they had pulled against Derren Cross and the Yellow jacket, which now seemed like a picnic in comparison.

These days his everyday training was every bit as intense as the fight with the Yellow Jacket.

Scott waited patiently in the big hall. This was a step-up for him career wise. He had been a little skeptical when the old man had suggested it, but figured that it made sense in an unfathomable sort of way. Hank Pym spent his whole life berating the Starks, but had no problems associating himself with a radical.

There had to be something fishy about the whole thing. Hank had been equally skeptical until he came across the Ant suit in the Pym residence. Even now a part of him seemed to be saying that the whole concept was bogus. Professor X was probably just another of these crazy guys in the same vein as Hank Pym and Howard Stark. A mere mortal finely balanced on the thin tight-rope with genius and insanity acting as landing beds on either side.

He wasn't an expert in genetics, wasn't even remotely interested in the subject in his student days, but it seemed extremely improbable to him that there were so many exceptions, so many rare cases and they all took shelter under one man's roof. It bothered him even more, that one of his best friends' was in fact a genocidal outright lunatic.

Scott finished what was his third cup of coffee in the last one hour, and waited for the man to arrive. A ding from the distance and the slow steady thrum of large steel elevator doors opening slowly, caused Scott to raise his head and look in the direction of the noise. If his previous thoughts had been unsettling, his first look at Professor Charles Xavier felt like an amplified version of the same. For a second, he was convinced that he was somehow looking at an older Derren Cross, as if Hope's former boss had somehow aged a few decades and now lived a cripple. But that momentary instant of terror was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it appeared and in his place Scott saw a tired old man, a man who seemed to have seen too much of life. His resemblance to Scott's former adversary was a result of his baldness and the smoothness of his skin. But up close, Scott knew that he was dealing with a personality forceful enough that he deserved his own place in Scott's memory not to be confused with any other.

"Good Evening, Scott. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I hope you found the surroundings comfortable enough. I trust you recall my colleague, Logan. He tells me you two have interacted before. He claims your prowess on the field is most extraordinary."

Scott found himself swelling with pride despite himself. It was quite something to be a superhero, but receiving praise from the Wolverine, even these were just words of diplomacy, was quite a wonderful feeling. There was no denying it. The mutant was a legend after all, and all of a sudden, Scott found himself far more trusting and receptive to the Professor than he had been a few minutes ago.

"I'm glad he thinks so" he replied to the Professor, his voice coming out more confident and steady than what he expected, "but that is in fact why I'm here."

"Yes. Indeed. Shall we proceed to the command center?"

They proceeded. The command center was a room that had an aura around it that gave its inhabitants the feeling that they had come into an area a few decades into the future. The floors were shiny white marble and the walls were shiny steel. The far wall was occupied entirely by an enormous screen on which video footage was played. Scott got the impression that the screen was never turned off. His suspicion was confirmed when the chief analyst told him he was at the end of his eight hour shift and was to be replaced by the next one.

"They work in three shifts" the Professor explained "Each analyst spends his time looking at the video on screen, and is replaced by the next operator who does the same. They do a fairly thorough job, detailing everything from the ergonomics of the on-screen character, to peculiarities of each of the parahuman abilities that they possess. Details such as under what conditions they're optimized to battle make such a critical difference at times."

Scott nodded. Hank had told him that most of the analysts recruited here were graduates of various Ivy League schools. Hope had a high opinion of them as well. She had mentioned how they were the smarter ones, the ones who had sacrificed high paying jobs on wall street, for work that was more interesting as well as more altruistic in nature.

"Scott, I'm going to be honest with you. I'll have the paperwork drawn up shortly and sent to your lawyer, but before that - "

"I don't have a lawyer. Just send it to Hope and Pym. I'll sign it without reading if they give me the go ahead" said Scott.

Judging by his reaction, Scott gauged that the Professor was not used to being interrupted. It was the kind of detail that never made it into the public image that celebrities, both super-powered and the more traditional kind, maintained.

"That's all right. I didn't mean to burden you with details. All I wanted to say was that if you want our support, you're going to have to commit. One hundred percent. Logan gives off the wrong impression to the public, but his story began a long time ago and he really was a special case. If you want to train with us, you're going to sign away all rights to your training videos, along with any data that might come along with it. You're going have to be either in or out. There is no in between."

"I'll think about it" replied Scott.

He had thought about it. The three of them had had a discussion about the whole affair, Hope saying it was worth it, Hank Pym against the idea voicing his fears that Ant-man would turn into yet another of Nick Fury's stooges.

Scott had been on the fence and was then almost about to take the plunge when he happened to run into Tony Stark. It was a brief five minute encounter, part of Tony's routine. A launch event for merchandise that the Avengers were launching had turned into an adventurous affair of its own but not before Tony Stark gave Scott an idea that seemed so obvious in retrospect, it was dumbfounding.

Scott looked at the message boards this morning. The world never seemed to run out of ideas when they were interested in a topic, and superheroes (even the lesser ones) were always interesting. He began to wonder how many of Iron Man's inventions were crowd sourced. But if he had thought of this, it was fairly obvious that the villains and renegades would have done so as well. It had become a Sisyphean treadmill for all of them.

Some of the ideas were intense. This morning, Scott had set up a dehydrator just inside the front door of his house. The invention had been in the market for a long time, unknown to national security. He lay down in front of it and recalled with a slight vibe of reverence how efficiently it had dried the sponge that he had placed in front of it last night. It would do the same to his body right now. He had been explicitly warned by a number of friends not to try ideas that popped up randomly over the internet, but deep down, Scott Lang hadn't changed. A tiny, but persuasive voice inside his head convinced him that he was still the risk taker that had so many years ago, broken into the Pym residence and stolen the Ant man suit.

And so he lay, in front of the dehydrator that to be fair had cost a lot, but was still something he could afford unlike the state of the art tech that Professor X waved about.

He stopped just short when he found his breathing was more laborious and his movements physically slower. Then he shrunk down to ant-size and began running through his garden. He knew that around this time, on the opposite side of the street Mrs. Kettleman would step out of her house and take her Pomeranian on its morning walk. Even though he suspected she was the type who would be easily alarmed, it didn't matter. She didn't have the kind of vision that the Falcon had used when he chose to battle the Ant Man at the Avengers warehouse.

Scott waded through his own garden. He was thirsty and still a little sore from yesterdays session. He began with a light jog through a trail of mud that he knew was relatively safe and free from insects. It was intended to serve as a warm up, but didn't have its usual effect. Scott wasn't sweating. His muscles were clenching far more easily and instead of loosening they were actually getting tighter.

'No pain, no gain' Scott had to remind himself. This was an opportunity to improvise. He slowly began jogging towards the water sprinkler in his garden. By normal human standards, the sprinkler would have been at least a few kilometers away. Scott had engaged in an exercise routine, even in when he was in prison. Running as a habit was built into his DNA. As an additional difficulty, he was dehydrated today.

It's a piece of cake, thought Scott to himself. Soon enough, he found himself looking at the water faucet. It stood like an enormous tower in the distance. Too bad, it was turned off. He would need to find a way to knock the switch from the off position to the on to let the water spill out. Or in the alternative, he could simply find his way into the nozzle. He was small enough to do that.

He opted for the latter. Scott took a deep breath and readied himself. It was a fairly tall leap and the distance was not a small one, but he could pull it off. He had done this before. One, two, three… go.

As he began the run forward he took a leap and….. he felt a sharp burning sensation in his leg. The Upper thigh on his right leg seared with heat and Scott yelled out in pain. But he was airborne. He was also on target. Scott landed right where he wanted to. There were a few drops of water on the surface of the nozzle and Scott had never gotten around to fixing the steady leak of water that Hope had been pestering him to. _Can't wait to use this in the next fight_ , Scott found himself thinking despite the pain.

Twenty minutes later, Scott was no longer thirsty and no longer ant-sized. He lay in the middle of his garden, dressed in costume and gingerly rubbing his right leg. He groaned inwardly.

"Bad day, huh?"

He recognized the voice. He would recognize it anywhere.

"The hell are you doing here?" he replied without looking up.

"I could ask the same of you"

"It's my house. I live here" said Scott still rubbing his right leg, hoping that manipulating the blood flow would ease the pain and minimize the damage.

"Hey, I got a house too believe it or not. I don't go around busting up myself in my own frontyard for the whole world to see."

"You don't bust yourself up anywhere. Besides, don't you have some bad guys to cut into pieces or something?"

"Not today, bub" said Wolverine, extending a hand. Scott took it and pulled himself up to his feet. Once he was standing, he found he couldn't walk properly.

"Hope!"

Logan had Scott up on his shoulders and was making his way towards the house. The mutant extended one claw from his right hand and slid it though the gap between door and wall right next to the keyhole and the door fell open. They proceed through the front door to the house that belonged to a family of superheroes all capable of shrinking down to insect size.

Logan put Scott down on the couch as Hope brought out a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses for the three of them.

He still had the fragments of the briefcase that had somehow miraculously survived the fall from the helicopter into the swimming pool. He had taken the cue from the decked up hallways of the Avengers, and adopted it as his own.


End file.
